The Question Game
by Lilacs and Monarda
Summary: The fight on Alcatraz is over and Billy and Machiavelli are waiting for the sun to rise. Machiavelli is worried about Billy, so they decide to play a game to keep them occupied through the night.


Machiavelli cradled Billy's head in his lap and watched as Areop Enap crawled away into the distance. The Italian could hear the gigantic spider moving through the dense brush beyond the warden's house and even though he knew that the Elder was on their side, he clung to the outlaw protectively until it at least disappeared from sight. Through a hole in the roof, he could see the sky, dark blue touched with a few rays of light at the horizon line.

He glanced down as Billy began to stir. Previously, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he seemed more alert now. _Perhaps it was the rising sun_, Machiavelli mused, shifting his leg carefully. Already, the pins and needles feeling of his feet going dead was beginning to happen, but he didn't want to jolt the American immortal.

"Aw, well this really hurts like a mother..." Billy trailed off and smiled cheekily at Machiavelli. He shifted his head over and looked at the man who had saved his life. "Hey," Niccolò said to the young man. "Hey, back," Billy replied easily. He yawned and shifted a bit, which let Machiavelli move his leg the rest of the way, so that it was at least not pinned down. Billy called his attention back to him, speaking in somewhat muffled tones. "You know, Mac, I've been on this Earth for a good long while, but this is the closest I've ever been to another man's-"

"Billy," Machiavelli interrupted. He didn't really want to think about where Billy's head was or what it was close to. He hadn't sorted out his emotions towards the young man yet, and the close proximity was not helping him clear his thoughts. "Perhaps it's best that we don't talk," he admonished gently.

"Aw, but Mac," Billy's eyes were soulful and Machiavelli didn't have the heart to tell him not to call him that. _The Kid was in pain after all_, he told himself, looking into Billy's blue eyes. The outlaw kept prodding him to talk. "I might not live much longer, and it's boring sitting in silence."

Unconsciously, Machiavelli brushed a few stray hairs from Billy's face. The thought of losing the American immortal, of him dying, had been too much for him to bear. It was for that reason that he had chosen to save Billy with no thought for his own health. He dropped his hand quickly, not sure if the younger man would appreciate being touched by another man. Billy didn't seem to notice Machiavelli's embarrassment or seem to mind the physical contact, but Machiavelli still thought it best to redirect the attention to something else. "What do you suggest, Billy?"

Billy didn't answer right away. His face was paler than usual and he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. The older man noticed for the first time his smooth features and surprisingly boyish good looks, something he had been too busy previously to notice, but now couldn't seem to look away from. Machiavelli was mesmerized. "Want to play a game, Mac?" Billy asked softly, interrupting the older man's thoughts.

"What kind of game?" Machiavelli asked, though he knew in his heart that he'd do just about anything that Billy asked right now if it meant that he could hear Billy's voice. Machiavelli was growing more concerned by the minute as, in the short time that Machiavelli had known Billy, the younger man was hardly ever without words and now he seemed so quiet.

"It's a question game. Used to play it during shootouts. I remember one time in Lincoln," Billy rambled on, describing one situation where he had been pinned down with other Regulators. Machiavelli couldn't help but smile. This was the young man he had met a week ago. Still, he seemed to be moving farther away from the conversation at hand so he lightly tapped the American immortal on the nose. Billy switched right back to describing the game and continued, "See, I ask you a question and if you answer my question, then you get to ask me something."

Machiavelli wasn't sure if Billy was pulling his leg or not. This seemed like a fairly inane game to play in the middle of a shootout. "And how does this game end Billy?"

"The first person who can't answer the other's question loses the game. I'll go first," he said excitedly. Billy closed one eye, then the other, squinted a bit, and then- Machiavelli bit back a groan- snuggled in closer to the Italian's lap. Now, he was fairly certain that the cowboy was torturing him. "Okay, first question. When's the last time you had sex?"

"Billy!"

"Hey, it's an honest question. You gonna answer or do I win?"

Machiavelli flushed a bit in the dim light. Of course this would be the first question that Billy would ask. Billy probably had a hundred women in the last hundred years or so, but Machiavelli hadn't been with a woman since his wife Marietta. Machiavelli didn't want to tell Billy that. "Not in a couple hundred years," he finally said. Billy hmmed. There was something unreadable in his eyes. It wasn't mocking, though. There was a pause. The moment dragged on and Machiavelli realized that he was supposed to be asking a question. Billy didn't seem to mind the wait though. "What's your real name, Billy?" the Italian finally asked.

Billy's eyes brightened. Machiavelli knew that though Billy wasn't conceited, he was the type of man who liked talking about himself. "Ah well, Mac, I've had a couple of names over the years. I've been Billy Bonney, Kid Antrim, Billy the Kid, Henry McCarthy, sometimes they just called me the Kid. Which one were you looking for?"

Machiavelli looked into the younger man's eyes. "How about the name your mother gave you?"

Billy's eyes fluttered shut again. Machiavelli thought for a moment that he had fallen asleep. Then Billy spoke again. "Henry. My mama called me Henry." Billy shifted a bit and looked up at Machiavelli. He waggled his eyelashes at Machiavelli. "You know Mac, this is supposed to be a fast paced game. So how do you feel about karaoke?"

"Absolutely not. So when was the last time you had sex?"

"Last week." Billy had a dreamy look in his eyes. Machiavelli was suddenly uncomfortable. He snapped his fingers in front of Billy's face impatiently, a strong emotion churning in his stomach. The dreamy look cleared up. "She was beautiful, but we didn't have much in common at all. I won't be seeing her again. Anyways, I don't keep girlfriends for long." He trailed off and refocused on the Italian. "How many states were in the Union when you were born?"

"Billy, I'm not an American. Why would I know?" he said exasperatedly. He paused, then relented. "None, America wasn't founded yet when I was a boy."

Billy whistled long and loud. He laughed and Machiavelli felt a little insulted. "Geez, you're old."

Machiavelli scoffed. "All right. We've already hashed that out before, there's no need to beat a dead horse. What's your favorite TV show?"

"I Love Lucy," the younger man said without blinking. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Machiavelli cracked up first. "I really do," Billy insisted, pushing himself up on one elbow. "You need to watch things that make you laugh."

"It's just not what I expected from my favorite outlaw," Machiavelli laughed. "I thought you'd pick a western show."

Billy tilted his head. "Well, I do like Bonanza and it's always fun to watch the specials on myself- there was a great one on PBS- but I lived that life. I don't need to watch it on TV."

"Well, I suppose that makes sense." Machiavelli looked out the door. Already, the sun was much higher than it had been before. "Do you really watch the specials on yourself?" Billy nodded vigorously. "Really? Don't they get a lot of information wrong?" The American nodded again, a broad smile gracing his face.

"You're just jealous cause there's a lot more specials on me than there are on you," Billy goaded him. "Okay. Okay I've got one to stump you. How many 'i's in my name?"

"One?" Machiavelli asked dubiously.

"Nah, two" Billy giggled liked he had said the funniest thing ever. It was not dissimilar from the mad giggle that Dee had let loose earlier that day and Machiavelli renewed his worrying. "Two," he repeated. "I'm Billy the Kid."

"Well, I can't deny that one," Machiavelli said drily.

"Got you good, didn't I?" Billy said sleepily. Machiavelli patted the younger man's head softly. Billy seemed out of it. _He probably wouldn't remember the conversation by tomorrow morning_, the Italian thought and it was this thought that gave him free reign to explore something he had been thinking about all night but hadn't vocalized.

"Do you think," Machiavelli paused and then continued on. "I mean to say, we're good friends aren't we?" Billy hmmed again, reached up awkwardly and patted the older man's face. He accidentally stuck his finger in Mac's eye and Machiavelli grimaced, but Billy laughed and apologized.

The sun was fully up by then and they could feel the warmth seeping over them at last, welcome after such a cold night. Machiavelli pulled Billy up a bit. The American made no objections to the increased physical contact, actually leaning into the older immortal's grasp. "Can I ask you a question, Mac?" He paused, then continued before Machiavelli could say anything. "Why'd you save me?"

Machiavelli was silent, contemplating his options. At last, he decided to answer honestly. Billy craned to see his face. "Cause I love you Billy."

"Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You won the game," Billy whispered. He leaned back and kissed the Italian, capturing the man's lower lip between his own. He leaned away a little so that he could see the other man's face. Machiavelli looked shocked for a second, then he smiled so that his face lit up. They touched foreheads. "I love you."


End file.
